


End of Days

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Porn, Angst mostly, F/M, Family Issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Imprisonment, M/M, Mentions of Breathplay, Mentions of public sex, Morning Sex, Robb plz talk to your loved ones, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Safe from the war, three people wait in Riverrun. They fuck, and slowly die.





	1. Famine

Jon wakes with a thatch of red hair in his mouth and a heavy hand grasping his shoulder, fingers digging in deep enough to leave bruises, making up for how the arm they're attached to can barely reach him over the body lying in between them. Jon groans and spits Lady Catelyn's locks out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, careful not to wake either of them. Talking in the morning is always the worst part of all of this, so much so they avoid it whenever they can, either by sneaking away before they have to or fucking again to keep themselves busy.

He should get up and go break his fast, but the thought makes him nauseous. He should not be ungrateful, for the food at Riverrun is very fine and any man in the Seven Kingdoms would envy him – and that is the problem, he is not used to such fine food. He comes from a castle in the middle of a frozen plain; he knows his meat salted and his vegetables pickled, he does not know fresh fish and fruit. He can barely keep it down. _It is all too rich for me._ He wonders if it was the same for Catelyn when she first came north, or Theon, for that matter.

The servants don't make it any easier, their forced smiles and cheery voices, _good morning, Ser Tomas –_ gods, that stupid fucking name. He always thought he'd rather be known as anything but _Jon Snow_ , and now he rather misses it. _I was a bastard, but I was my father's bastard._ It isn't Robb's fault; Jon is a deserter from the Watch, his life is forfeit. It's wear another name or lose his head. Robb loves him too much to let him do that. _But he could have let me choose my own name_.

It's not as if the whole castle doesn't know who he is, but so long as no-one challenges the lie aloud, it does not matter. He is Ser Tomas of Maidenpool, a man of no name but great skill, who King Robb chose as his lady mother's own personal protector. Perhaps that's Robb's punishment for his desertion, that he has to play _her_ protector, although he does not know what Lady Catelyn has done that would make Robb do that to her. Sometimes, in weaker moments, he wonders what would have happened if Father still lived, if he would be too honourable to ignore Jon's crime, if he would be strong or callous enough to take his own son's head for breaking his vows. He knows nothing good can come of wondering such things, but he does it anyway.

Jon sighs as he loosely runs his fingers through her hair. He does not like to think he fucks her for vengeance. He's sure she must think he does; that he merely wishes to make a whore of her, to drag her down to the level of his own mother, but Jon tells himself he does not care what she thinks. He never lets himself hurt her. He remembers one time she grabbed his hands and wound them around her throat, and he jumped away, panicking. He could not do that to her; he knew Robb really would have his head if he wounded his lady mother. To her credit, Catelyn did not push; she simply turned to the side and asked Theon for it instead, and hid the bruises the next day beneath a high collar.

He still hasn't the faintest clue what she gets out of this. He's heard of widows finding their beds cold, but she is so beautiful; he's sure if she wished, she could have any man in this castle – but him, she's always hated him, and she was never exactly fond of Theon either. It was them who began it, full of rage and grief, a prisoner and all-but a prisoner, whose bitter, pointless snapping at one another turned into throwing each other against walls and spitting in one another's face, until he found himself with Theon's hand on his cock and teeth in his lip, cursing into his mouth, and Jon has to suspect he was cursing the boy who left them both behind.

When Lady Catelyn caught them, it was pure accident, he thinks, and he expected recriminations – especially for him, a bastard daring to touch the heir of a great house, albeit an heir seemingly disinherited. He expected her to blush at least. But no, she just looked at them, as impervious as if she'd caught them playing cyvasse, and took a seat. _I will leave if you wish it,_ she said. _But if not, you may continue. I would like to watch._

It must have been Theon who invited her to come from watching to joining; Jon would never have been so brave. Theon is always rough with her, something that makes Jon's stomach tighten with dread, even though Lady Catelyn never refuses it – mayhaps that's what she wants, mayhaps that's what she's never had, for Jon can't imagine his father touching her such a way. But he can't bring himself to do it. Still, even if he's not as good as Theon, she lets him in her bed when she has every reason not to, and so maybe he should just be grateful.

He sighs as he lets his eyes glide over Catelyn's naked body, finding Theon hidden behind her. He does not think of him enough. She has come between them, in every sense of the word, but really it is not her doing: what's between them is the same thing, the same person, there's always been. They fell into each other's beds in anger, anger at being abandoned, imprisoned while Robb rode off to war, even if Jon does know Robb would have done it if he'd had any choice. But when he came south, he thought he was coming to fight by his brother's side, not to be locked away as a secret and a scandal. _I am a bastard,_ he reminds himself. _I will always be a secret and a scandal._

Jon spreads Robb's mother's hair across her white silk pillows. _He keeps me hidden away like his mistress,_ he thinks, and he does not fuck her for vengeance, even if he thinks Robb would have his head if he knew. He tells himself he's just lonely. She's not family, she'll never be his family, and he should be grateful, since he could not do this if she was. But as always, she is the closest thing he has.

She does not love him, but perhaps she's learned to pity him. At least for now. They have a sort of truce, but to be fair, they have nothing left to fight over. If Robb were still here, if his brothers and sisters were still here, if Father were still here it would be different. She may still fear him. But they are all gone; not all dead but _gone_ , Father's head cut away, Sansa stolen by the Lannisters, Bran and Rickon trapped north by the Ironborn, by the people both their mother and brother have shared their beds with, and Arya...

Jon knows Robb thinks she's dead, but he cannot let himself believe that. He feels terrible for it, but he thinks he could live if any of the rest of them were dead, but Arya... She was always special to him, the one of them who never looked at him with any hint of shame or regret, who was more him than her mother. She was his heart, she was his home. If she were dead, he would go mad.

He remembers how Lady Catelyn looked watching over Bran's broken body. Perhaps that's why he fucks her. Not for revenge, or company, but because he thinks she might understand.

Catelyn moans softly as he strokes her like a pet. Jon frowns. _I woke her._ In truth, perhaps he meant to, for he is not always so shy with her: one time he caught her bathing naked in the river, and once she got out he pushed her to the ground and ate her cunt there and then, thinking nothing of how likely it was they'd be seen. After all, he was not her bastard stepson anymore, but Ser Tomas, her faithful protector, and a widow taking a loyal guardsman to bed cannot be so uncommon, can it?

But he is never Ser Tomas to her, to either of them. Theon might spit a thousand cruel barbs at him as they fuck, and Lady Catelyn might still sometimes look at him with eyes crueller than her mouth could ever be, but at least neither of them calls him that stupid fucking name.

“Jon,” she murmurs, and looks back over her shoulder at him. His stomach churns. _Please don't ask me to speak to you._ Luckily, she doesn't, and she even attempts a smile, although it doesn't reach her eyes.

Quickly she reaches behind herself and takes ahold of his cock, finding him as hard as you'd expect for a boy of his years in the morning. Jon groans and bucks toward her, but he knows she only touches him so she will not have to talk to him.

 


	2. Pestilence

Theon wakes to the sound of Jon moaning and sighing, green boy that he is, as Lady Catelyn touches him beneath the sheets. He chuckles. “Easy, Snow. Don't let her get you off before I have a turn,” he says, ignoring the fact that once again, their lady reached for the bastard first.

Snow mutters something foul at him, and Lady Catelyn says nothing, but that's no matter, he doesn't need her to talk. He sees he has a hand on Snow's shoulder, and opts not to move it, while with the other he cups one of Lady Catelyn's breasts, thumbing the nipple. She pauses a moment, which isn't uncommon with her, but after not long she sighs and relaxes into the touch, same as a thousand women he's had before.

The bastard is always so much shyer about touching her than Theon is, but Theon feels no need to hold back just to make Snow feel better. He takes whatever he can get from the woman, and tries not to wonder about the whats and whys. When she asked for a choking, he gave it to her in no short order, and tried not to ask any questions. Jon seems to think she still hates him though, which Theon suspects she does, even though the fact she's currently stroking his cock and probably spraining her wrist in order to do it would seem to be a mark against it. Still, women are like that, and Theon's fucked a dozen girls who hated him (and if they didn't hate him at the time, they did shortly after).

She groans as Theon leans down to take her nipple into his mouth, suckling like a babe, and Snow gasps as she must start to stroke him faster. He laughs. “Careful, you two. Don't want the whole castle hearing us,” even though he's not sure they don't. Her in particular, she lets him fuck her anywhere; she would do Snow if he were brave enough to ask, but Theon's taken her in the stables and the great hall and even the sept, and he wants to tell himself that's because of him, that she just can't resist his cock, but he highly doubts that's it.

Jon just glares at him over her shoulder. “Have you considered shutting up, then?” he asks, and Theon shivers involuntarily. Jon was always like that while fucking him, whenever he managed to get on top, angry and sullen and quiet. Theon still feels the ache inside him from being prized open with Jon's cock, even if it's not happened in weeks. Since Lady Catelyn came to their bed, they fuck each other less often. Theon tells himself he doesn't want it to happen again, not really, even though he suspects he did like having the attention all on him.

He half-expects Lady Catelyn, ever the mother, to put a stop to it, to tell off two bickering boys. But she says nothing, and Theon guesses that this is the one place she's not a mother. Unless they get a bastard on her. Theon has no idea what he'll do if he does that, though if Snow does, he thinks he'll laugh, because gods how awkward that would be.

 _She'd have to keep the father secret though, so Robb wouldn't have our heads._ Theon does laugh at that thought, after everything with the ghost of Snow's mother. Still, their lives are both forfeit, a deserter and a hostage who's father broke the contract, and Robb is simply to soft-hearted to take their heads. Suddenly fear stabs Theon's heart. _Maybe that's why she's done it. Maybe she's seduced us to be rid of us, to give Robb the push he needs to kill us._ He does not think Lady Catelyn is so sly, but then again, he does not think he really knows her.

Theon shakes the thought away. There are lots of reasons this is a terrible idea, what Robb would do if he found out chief among them, but Theon's never been one to let reason talk him out of fucking a beautiful woman. And she is beautiful, even if she's almost twice his age; she's the first woman he ever wanted, since he was eleven years, still a stranger at Winterfell, his cock barely figuring out how spending worked and he accidentally spied her naked in the hot pools one time. He tries to imagine the look on Lord Stark's face if he knew his hostage was fucking his wife. And then he tries to stop imagining it, because the look he sees isn't angry, or humiliated, or anything he might take pleasure in – it's sad, and understanding, but still disappointed.

Besides, he wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for them. Robb meant to send him to his father, to form an alliance, but they both talked him out of it – they didn't trust him. Either of them alone, Robb wouldn't have listened, because _Robb_ trusts him, but he trusts them more. And when would they agree on something that wasn't certain?

Then his father rose up to rebel anyway, and left him to his fate. He could tell both Jon and Catelyn felt guilty when they realised they had trapped him there, living on Robb's mercy, and though they haven't told him as such, he likes to think they begged their king to spare him.

In truth, Theon doesn't know what he would have done if Robb had sent him back home. Perhaps he wouldn't have been welcome. But he would have been free to choose, and not again a prisoner when he'd almost forgotten he always was. So now, he feels righteous in taking whatever is left to him, and what's left to him is them.

(Robb was going to send him away. They talked their king into keeping him.)

He nips at Catelyn's nipple slightly and makes her gasp. He squeezes his fingers on Snow's muscle and realises he's left a dark purple bruise. “Come here, my lady,” he says as he entertwines his legs with hers, staring in Snow's dark grey eyes. She groans as he presses his cock against her thigh. “Is that what you want? A good thorough fucking before the start of the day?”

Lady Catelyn does not answer, but she's quite eager when he finally lets go of the bastard's arm to guide her into a more convenient position. She ends up on all fours, ready to service them both at once. Theon tries to take pride in that. _She'd let me do anything to her._ His father might have abandoned him to rape and raid the North in the Old Way, but Theon's the one fucking the most highborn woman in the Riverlands; Harren the Black would be proud. Except deep in his heart, he knows she's only taking what he gives her because she wants it. If he asked for something she didn't want, she'd turn him away in a heartbeat.

Still, Theon won't think about that. He groans as he takes himself in hand, stroking himself a few times before he lines himself up with her cunt. “Gonna give you my cock, my lady.” He's sure she doesn't want the rest of him.

Suddenly Jon gasps, and Theon watches as those stern grey eyes slide shut in bliss as Lady Catelyn takes him into her mouth. Theon's jaw tightens. _It's not fair,_ he thinks before he can stop himself. She always hated her husband's bastard, but now, he's the closest thing to old Lord Stark she can have. Catelyn has less reason to hate him than Jon, but less reason to love him too, and so Theon thinks she doesn't really care about him at all.

And Jon, Jon came here for Robb, to win honour and glory by his side, the same way Theon did. And they both wound up prisoners, even if _Ser Tomas_ is a free man, and Robb is off to battle and victory, nowhere to be seen. Jon needs someone to be angry at, someone that doesn't spike his fears like their lady and their king do. He doesn't fuck Catelyn hard but he lets her watch when he fucks Theon hard, and Theon wonders if he's trying to prove a point. _Look, my lady. Look what I could do to you, but I don't._

Either way, he doesn't care about Theon either. Neither of them does. He's just here as a third body in the bed, because being here together alone would be too painful. They have to speak through someone while they fuck.

Still, they might never love him, but they're still two pretty things offering him their holes, and Theon isn't ungrateful. He winks at Jon while Catelyn sucks his cock, and then he pushes himself inside her, fucks her as roughly as he dares. He takes what he can get.

 


	3. Death

Catelyn wakes with fingers running through her hair, and for a moment it's all too familiar. She reminds herself where she is, back in Riverrun without a husband to share her bed, but two boys instead. She looks back over her shoulder. Snow is frowning, sad and lonely, as he so gingerly touches her. He is always so cautious with her, and sometimes it makes her want to strike him, sometimes it makes her want to weep. “Jon,” she says, and the name is still unfamiliar on her tongue, but less so than the name Robb has graced him with. She smiles at him, the same way she smiled at every man in this castle when she was lady of it, a girl of six and ten, and hopes it will do.

Her body moves without her, reaching for his cock on instinct, finding him hard and wet and moving so eagerly into her grip. There is a part of her, somewhere hazy within her mind, that could chide and sneer, that could think of course the bastard would be so eager – but it means little, in the end. After all, she's the one touching him. His eyes drift shut and that makes it easier; his eyes are so much like...

A stirring beside her, and Catelyn turns her head to see Theon Greyjoy on her other side, chuckling away as ever. “Easy, Snow,” he says. “Don't let her get you off before I have a turn.”

Jon mutters something at him over her shoulder and Catelyn ignores it all, lets it wash over her as she strokes the bastard's cock and the hostage drifts inevitably towards her body. She shouldn't, she should try and put a stop to the bickering, but she doesn't think she could, and if she ever tried she'd never be able to give up. In her sillier moments, she thinks that's the real reason Robb left them all here – no other way out. _He should send them to treat with the Brackens and Blackwoods. They have a lot in common._

It is easier when she does not have to speak; when she can let them use her body and have their little arguments above her. She knows, with the way Snow touches her, they must want more than her body. But it is all she has to offer them.

Theon is easier. He smirks and japes and does his best to treat her just like every other woman in Winterfell he bedded. It doesn't work, but she's grateful for the effort.

A hand finds her breast, and as always Catelyn starts, just a second. _I cannot. I am a maid. I am a woman wed._ But she is neither of those things anymore, without a maidenhood or a man's honour to defend. So she relaxes into it, trying to take pleasure in what she can now allow herself, too handsome young men to warm her bed.

Quickly, Theon darts down and takes her teat into her mouth, nipping at her, and she squirms against him, memories flooding her. _Rickon. Bran. Arya. Sansa. Robb. My teats were meant to feed them, but they are all gone. I can only use them to please now._ The thought makes her want to weep. But she does not want to weep, not today, and there is base, animal pleasure in having a mouth upon her breast. She groans and arches her back, spurring Theon's sinful mouth on further, and her hand quickens on Jon's cock. _More. Please. Let me be no more than a woman with needs._

Theon laughs at them. “Careful, you two. Don't want the whole castle hearing us.” And he's right, she shouldn't – she may no longer have a husband to be unfaithful too, but she can still imagine the looks and whispers if anyone caught her here. She imagines what her father would say, were he still lucid enough to understand. What Edmure would say. What Robb would say.

And that she thinks is why she dreams of them catching her; it's why she lets Theon take her anywhere he damn pleases, even in her lord father's seat; it's why she let Jon Snow eat her cunny on the bank of river she grew up swimming in, and screamed loud enough she thought the whole castle would hear her. _Look at me!_ she wanted to cry. _I'm fucking two men, my husband's hostage and his bastard son! Be shocked, be ashamed! Wonder, what could have made me such a whore?!_

“Have you considered shutting up then?!” Snow snaps, angry, but not at her. Never at her. It would be easier if she thought he hated her; that he wanted to fuck her hard and make her into the whore his mother might have been. But he touches her so gently, she can't believe that; he must want to give her pleasure, to relieve her loneliness, and perhaps by that, earn her love. And she hates it, because she knows she can never love him – she does not hate him as she once did, she doesn't have the energy anymore, but she can neither trust nor love him – and it makes her feel like she's being punished, the babes she bore and nurtured taken from her, and her husband's bastard cursed on her, desperate for her heart, but finding her empty and barren.

If he would punish her, that would be easier. She would let him do anything and everything to her if she thought it would expunge her sins, earn her children back.

But he never will, not even when she asks: when she pulled his hands around her throat, it was the one time he refused her, so scared of hurting her. The fear in his eyes made her heart hurt, so she vowed she would never ask him for such a thing again. Luckily, Theon was not so shy, and when he gripped her pale neck she felt herself floating upon a rich and splendorous pool, ready to dive beneath it, and from beneath the water she could hear Ned calling to her...

She could never go, though, with Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon all waiting for her. And Robb, even if he had left her here himself. Sometimes, in her weakest moments, she thinks it would be easier if they were dead. Then she could grieve, or she could die with them, and they could all be together in some better world. As is, they are simply gone, spread across the seven kingdoms where she cannot go to them, but she feels her heart torn apart and scattered, leaving only this empty body behind.

Catelyn is not a prisoner, not the same way Theon is, or Jon would be were he not _Ser Tomas._ And yet Robb warned her she should not leave, for her own safety. She knows he's right; the mother of the King in the North would be a valuable hostage (though maybe no more valuable than his sisters) – but there is more to it than that. He wants to keep her sheltered, where no-one can see her and she cannot embarrass him. _He has outgrown me._ Robb is a man grown now, for he must be, to be a king – and it does not suit a man grown to have a mother looking over her shoulder, not to mention a mother young enough to seduce his closest companions. She bore and raised him, and now that job is done. She was Eddard Stark's wife, and now that job is done. She has other children to raise, but she cannot do that job.

The are only two places she would want to go. To Winterfell, to be with her boys, but they Ironborn have taken Moat Caillin and trapped them inside, safe, as far as she knows, but alone. Or to King's Landing to find her girls, and she knows Robb has the golden coin he needs to pay for them but a few floors beneath her, but she knows he won't. She tries so hard to understand, for Robb is the last babe she has left even if he wants nothing to do with her, she doesn't want to be angry at him, but she wants her daughters back. Surely, that is not so unnatural?

She gasps when Theon bites her nipple, and smiles to herself, trying to be drawn away from her bitter thoughts. “Come here, my lady,” he says and she can feel his cock pushing between her legs. She should fear him getting a bastard on her, but she doesn't – she knows in theory she is not too old, but she feels as though she is. “Is that what you want? A good thorough fucking to start the day?”

 _Yes. That._ It's easier when she feels as if that's all she wants, and that might be why Theon is here; it would be too hard if she fucked Snow and Snow alone, because she would always feel as if she was taking him as her replacement for Ned, as she once took Ned as her replacement for Brandon. Why it hurts less to think of herself as a total slattern than just a grieving widow, she cannot say, but it does.

But Theon pushes her upward, and she finds herself looking at Snow's face, so much like her father's, and she chokes on her breath a moment. She has to remind herself the position she's in, on all fours for two men. _Ned would never have fucked me like this._ That gives her space to breathe, to examine Jon's curling hair and softer jaw, to remember who and where and when she is. Until Theon speaks again: “Gonna give you my cock, my lady.”

Desperate to distract herself, she leans forward and takes Jon into her mouth, quick, eager and lewd. He gasps and his fingers, still so gentle, wind through her hair. It isn't working. _Ned loved my hair._

And in her weaker moments, like now, she lets this happen. She lets Snow's cock push against her throat until she gags, so her eyes will blur with tears, and when she sees badly enough he is Ned again, as sweet and shy as he was one their wedding night, and she pleasures him with everything she has in her, all but begging him to stay.

And she lets Theon fuck her from behind, so she does not have to see him at all, but she can hear him, smell him, feel him and he's so like Brandon it's unreal. So she lets them both fuck her at once, in some other world where she could have them both, where one didn't die for her to wed the other, and once they're done they will go downstairs and their children will be waiting to all break their fast as a family, along with her father and uncle and brother and sister, and even her mother, why not?

But the moment doesn't last, for she catches sight of herself in her mirror, the same mirror she did her hair in before she wed all those years ago. Panic strikes her heart. _Would my children even recognise me?_ They could not understand why she'd bed their brother, nor a boy raised with them like a brother – two boys half her age. She can see the silver running through her hair. _I am so old._

In truth, she knows she isn't. But she feels old enough to die.

 


End file.
